


5 Times Howard Stark Wasn't A Good Parent and 1 Time He Was

by fandomstakeoveryourlife



Series: Marvel Support Group AU [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Biphobia, Clinical Depression, Depression, Hand Jobs, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Neglect, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Support Group, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, bi tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomstakeoveryourlife/pseuds/fandomstakeoveryourlife
Summary: Tony didn't blame his dad. Okay, that was a lie; he didn't blame his dad - in the beginning.But what was it for him to say?Maybe he was a shitty kid.Maybe he did deserve it.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers & Maria Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Marvel Support Group AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493894
Kudos: 11





	5 Times Howard Stark Wasn't A Good Parent and 1 Time He Was

**1**

To be fair, when he looked back on his childhood, Tony considered it a happy one. Images of picnics out in the (at the time) small, neatly trimmed garden with his mom, perched delicately on the blanket, leaning back on her palms, a syrup-sweet smile on her face. His father would wander out of the cramped workshop, his suspenders hanging loosely about his narrow hips like withered vines and wiping his grease-ingrained hands on a rag. He would slip his top few buttons free, airing the sweat-slicked skin of his chest, before easing himself with youthful grace onto the blanket beside his mother. They would sit and sip something sour and bubbly while he roared about the grass, pretending to be some car or plane. 

That was, at least, until his dad's work started to gain some traction. Until his dad started having less and less time for him, or his mother. Until his father started shutting himself away in his office-come-workshop for hours on end. Until the only time he would really see his dad was in the morning or sitting through a stony-silent dinner. 

At school, all the kids would clamour endlessly about the latest bit of tech from Stark industries. Their juice-sticky hands would tug over and over at his shirt sleeves, demanding to know about the new StarkPhone and what it was like to live to be the son of an inventor such as he.

Tony only brought it up to his mom once; he'd come home from school exhausted and tear-stung. "Mom?" 

She was in the kitchen, frowning softly as she tried to fit newspaper wrapped dishes into a heavy-duty box; they were moving to some big house his father had visited several times and said they would love. "Hm?"

"The kids at school keep asking about dad." 

Maria Stark didn't even look up from what she was doing. "Is that so? Well, it's not every day you get to go to school with the son of someone as great as your dad." There was a tightness in her voice that Tony didn't understand at that age, but as he got older he wondered how he'd ever missed the tension as thick as congealed custard that suffocated the air of the house.

"But it's so _tiring_." His lower lip jutted out childishly. "He doesn't even spend time with us, anymore." 

His mom inhaled sharply, as if she'd just caught herself on the pointed edge of something. Without looking at him, she said "we are very lucky to have your father supporting our family like this. A lot of families are not nearly as lucky as us. Your father loves us dearly."

* * * *

"Is dad coming to dinner?" Tony internally winced at the anxious desperation in his tone and silently hoped his mom wouldn't notice it. 

Instead of answering, his mom took a generous swallow from her three-quarters-full wine glass and drifted her gaze over to their butler Jarvis. 

Jarvis cleared his throat softly. "I believe Mister Stark was intending to attend dinner." He paused for a response but when there wasn't one, he followed up with "would you like me go remind him?" 

Maria Stark half-heartedly hid her sigh of irritation. "No. It's fine, Jarvis. Thank you." Tiredly, she put down her wine glass and stared resentfully at the long-cold vegetables on her plate. 

"-wait!" Tony blurted after Jarvis as he turned to exit the room. Both adults jerked their heads in his direction. "I- I wanted to say something. Something important." His voice trailed off at the end.

"Is it really that important, Tony? Can't it wait until some other time?" 

The impatience in his mom's voice made him falter; she'd been more and more short-tempered as of late and the last thing he wanted to do was give her a reason to spend equally as little time with him as his father did. 

"Uh-" His heart was thudding so violently in his chest, it was bruising his sternum. 

"Mister Stark, I will go and ask if he is otherwise occupied." Jarvis turned fluidly on his heel and strode from the dining room. Squirming in his seat, Tony felt as if he'd shrunk in his seat, back to the time when he was nine and had accidentally broken one of the fancy looking glass statuettes on the sitting room mantle piece. He'd had to wait outside his dad's office for what must have been hours, fidgeting anxiously and chewing on the edges of his nails until they were down to the quick and oozing hot pin-pricks of blood. 

Heavy-footed steps echoed down the polished hall and Tony flinched upright in his seat, his thundering pulse soaring as the oxygen to his lungs suddenly seemed to restrict. As Howard Stark entered the room, the first thing Tony noticed was the expression of unfiltered annoyance that was set bone-deep into his already exhaustion-lined features. Any resemblance of confidence drained from the teenager's entire being, his shoulders hunching up to his jaw as anxiety flooded his veins, so strong he could taste its bitter slick coating his mouth like bile. 

"Sit up straight, Tony, for god's sake." Howard pulled back his chair sharply and it was all Tony could do not to flinch reflexively. Pushing his torso upright, he swallowed hard against the suffocating swelling in his throat. 

An impenetrable silence settled over the room, like a wet weighted blanket. 

"Well?" His father was resting his fingertips together in front of him. "Jarvis said you had something to share, Anthony. Better get on with it."

"I- " Tony took a breath. "I just wanted to say, that, I'm bi." 

The weighted blanket invaded his nose, his throat, his lungs with every inhale. He was suffocating in a room filled with air. 

Suddenly, Howard let out a harsh barking guffaw. He stood so sharply that his chair toppled backwards and hit the floor with a resonating _crack_. The teenage boy's eyes widened impossibly. His father slammed his hand down on the white cloth clad table, forcibly enough to rattle the silver-plated cutlery against the delicately painted china plates. This time, Tony could not supress the flinch that wracked his muscles. 

" _That's_ what you wanted me to hear?" The unrelenting malice in his voice was undeniable, no matter how much Tony told himself it was just his imagination. "Do you _want_ them to think you're a pansy? Do you _want_ them to keep picking on you?" He straightened up again and rubbed his temples with the callous-threaded tips of his fingers. " _God._ This is not what I needed today." 

"I'm sorry." Tony forced the sour words through his numb and unresponsive lips; they made nausea ripple through his stomach and his eyes itch. 

His father turned from the table and left, as though his son hadn't spoken, in the same storming stride, calling out "I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the night" over his shoulder as he went.

Beside him, his mother uncapped the white wine and emptied the remaining dregs into her now-empty glass with trembling hands.

**2**

It's funny how you don't notice the small things changing, how you only realise there's an issue when you trip and suddenly it's like your eyes are fully open for the first time and everything is different. 

He hadn't noticed he was forgetting things at first; it seemed normal to have to be reminded repeatedly about letting the dogs out, having to check every day what the date was because he couldn't remember what it was the day before, setting his dinner plate down on his desk and then seeing and remembering it almost two hours later, by which time everything was congealed and cold. But when he suddenly realised he couldn't remember what he'd done that morning, if he'd had breakfast or taken his daily vitamin, let alone what he'd done in the last two or so days, that's when it started to get unnerving.

Looking back on it, it was almost amusing how he hadn't noticed as his hours of sleep had trickled off. At one point, he'd regularly been getting ten hours, but then, somehow, it'd become two. God forbid you ask him what he did in those extra eight hours, 'cause _fucking hell_ Tony did not know. All he knew were the bruise dark circles, permanently etched into the sallowed skin beneath the hungry caves of his eye sockets. 

Everyone has blue days sometimes; that's just life. But at what point does it stop being life and start being a problem? That heavy set feeling of cloying numbness seemed to have crept upon him overnight, settling over his entirety like a second skin. Some days were okay, manageable: he could get up, function, pretend the darkness at the corners of his vision wasn't there. Those days were fine. Other days were like being anesthetised and swallowing glass, at once. Agonising numbness. Numb agony. It was all the same. On those days, he could stare up at the ceiling for what felt like mere moments, but in reality hours had passed, yet somehow, the day seemed to ooze by as slow as bitter molasses. 

Tony hadn't realised how much he'd withdrawn either until he dragged himself into the kitchen for the first day back to school after fall break in his freshman year and his mother had looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes stretched against the tired lines webbing her face. 

"Tony, dear." She faltered for a moment, her lips quivering as they tried to keep up with her mind. "Breakfast?" She asked at last.

He shook his head. "No, thanks. Not hungry." Setting his bag down on the kitchen island, he sifted through the many loose sheets of paper rammed in amongst his exercise and textbooks, double-checking he'd picked up his Physics homework. It was still an odd feeling to see his mom standing at one of the impossible lengths of pale glinting marble countertop, despite the fact she'd let their cook go at least three months prior; with Howard spending so much of his time locked away alone in his office, she had declared her interest in doing much of the housework herself (though, Tony was sure neither she or his father would openly admit that to anyone outside of the family).

"I think you should eat something." Maria turned away from him and busied herself clicking open cabinets and restlessly shuffling spare cutlery about on the marble.

"It's fine, mom. I'm not hungry." Digging further through his bag, his brow furrowed; how the _fuck_ was his bag this messy? He could've sworn he'd put that damn sheet in.

"I'll just pop some toast in, shall I? Not much point cooking anything big up." She said, as if he hadn't spoken at all.

His attention finally dropped from his homework-search and he narrowed his eyes at her. " _Mom._ " Irritation bled freely into his tone. His shoulder hunched up to his ears, muscles coiled tensely, like a defensive animal ready to attack or flee at any given moment. 

Maria sighed heavily, her body shuddering with the intensity of it. "I don't _care_ if you're not hungry, Tony. You look tired and like you haven't been eating enough. I feel like I haven't seen you properly in- in _weeks_ and I'm _worried_. I'm your mother, let me take care of you, okay?" As she spoke, her gaze remained fixed away from him, at the slate-tiled wall behind the eight-slot toaster. 

Tony felt the stiffness in his shoulders release as swiftly as it had arrived. Pure and unrelenting exhaustion swept over him, filling the space left by the tension and suddenly all he wanted to do was cling to his mom and cry into her sweater like he hadn't done since he was barely past her hip. Relenting to the bone-deep ache, he slumped into one of the cushy leather-covered barstools tucked under the island. As he rested his forehead against the soothing cold marble top, worn fingers carded with motherly affection through the tangled locks of his hair (when was the last time he'd washed that?).

"Are you doing okay, Tony? Be honest with me." 

There was something about her tone, something he couldn't quite name, that made him want to tell her everything: the insomnia, the forgetfulness, the low moods and the numb self-hatred that had bled in unabated with them, the constant aches that wracked his muscles, no matter how much or how little he stretched, the disassociated detachment he felt from _everything_ , and those were only the things he was sure weren't usual. God only knows what other shit was going on that wasn't supposed to be. Shit he had continually brushed off because it was fine. _It was fine_. 

"No." A tightening sensation he hadn't even been aware of until that very moment suddenly seemed to release - like a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Gone. 

"Do you want to go see someone about it?" There was careful concern in her voice, as if she didn't want to upset him or overstep and set him off, like a landmine.

"I don't know." Tony hesitated as his father trickled into his mind. How would his dad react if he found out his son was having _issues_? Howard's condescending scorn echoed inside his head _"Since when was my son so goddamn pathetic?"_ , _"Man-up, for God's sake, Anthony."_ , _"If you're aiming to be a disappointment, then you're right on track."._ Nauseating guilt welled in his stomach and Tony struggled to swallow back the sour bile that rose up inside. "I don't want it to reflect bad on Dad."

"Oh, _screw_ what your father thinks."

Her exclamation took Tony by such surprise that he lifted his head and stared at her with widened tired eyes. Maria sighed and shook her head. 

"I know his judgement means a lot to you, dear, but this is about you and your wellbeing. If he doesn't want what's best for you, then why does it matter what he thinks?" 

The teenager dug his teeth into his lower lip. He hoped that questions was rhetorical because it was one he really didn't want to have to give an answer to.

"Tony, I'm so _tired_ of standing by and watching you get knocked down by him again and again. Yes, he's your father, but there's got to be a point where it isn't worth it anymore. Let him come to you instead, okay?" 

Weighty silence lingered lengthy and and stifling over the room before Tony relented and nodded. "Okay, yeah."

His mom smiled gently at him, her eyes finally allowing the warmth of it to seep into them. "I'll ring the doctor's practise when you've gone to school, okay?" She glanced over her shoulder. "I think your toast may have gone cold, though."

**3**

"Had you been saving them for a while?"

"Yeah. I still had some zoloft left over from before they switched me and I stopped taking my paxil."

"The report said you ingested 14 zoloft and 40 paxil, Tony. You must have been planning this for some time."

"I- Yeah, I guess I had been. I was going to wait longer, but then mom and dad decided to take some spur-of-the-moment time off and went out to a restaurant. Seemed like an unmissable opportunity."

"Who found you?"

Tony swallowed with an audible click. "My mom. She wasn't meant to-" He cut himself off and shook his head slowly. "I don't know who was meant to, really. But it definitely wasn't her." He flexed his fingers carefully and watched the circulation flood pink warmth through the tight white skin. "She found me out on the balcony, half with it, all slobbery and slurred, pissed outta my mind. I don't know who called the ambulance, but it wasn't her. Jarvis ended up being the one who made me vomit; she was in too much shock and dad- dad was-" the words caught in his throat and choked him off.

The therapist sitting in the chair across from him in the comfortably cluttered Mental Health centre office was watching him with a soothing gaze. When he started seeing her weekly after his attempt, he'd been very glad to find she wasn't one of the pushy pity-ers, who make you talk about your shit before you're ready, all the while staring at you with wide wet eyes, like a whining puppy. 

"Do their reactions make you regret your attempt?" 

"I feel guilty for hurting my mom. She already goes through enough on a daily basis from dealing with my dad. She didn't deserve to have more shit from me, piled on top of that. She keeps getting all teary when she sees me, and checking in on me all the time, like it's her responsibility to make sure I'm okay all the time, and like if she doesn't check, I'll feel shit again and it'll be her fault."

"So, your attempt has made her feel guilty and worried, which in turn has made you feel guilty?"

Tony nodded. He knew Maria meant well, but there were only so many 'check-ins' and cups of 'wellbeing tea' he could take before it started getting on his nerves. The few times he had gotten overwhelmed and snapped at her, the stifling guilt had come sweeping back with vengeance as her skin had paled and she'd scurried back out the room, eyes watering, with raspy apologies and shaking hands.

"What about your dad?" The therapist's tone was deliberately measured and even: cautious but not fearful.

He sighed. Where to fucking start?

"I don't feel guilty because of him, if that's what you mean." He was deliberately skirting around the question and both of them knew it. "I regret it, I guess, but I don't feel guilty."

"Why?" She barely gave him time to inhale before another question was being shoved down his throat. 

"Because he just couldn't seem to make his disappointment clear quick enough. He didn't stay around with my mom, after she found me, while she was waiting for the ambulance. He didn't ever come visit me in the hospital - not even a fucking _note_. And since I've been back home, it's as if someone took his already icy temperament and made it Antarctic." Tony sighed and wiped his hand down his face. "The only times we've spoken, it's been of some benefit to him."

The first time had been the day Tony had come home from the hospital; his dad had co-incidentally been stalking, stony-faced, out of his mahogany-doored office as Tony had been stood in the front all of their oversized house, peeling off his coat and handing it to Jarvis. 

"Good afternoon, Mister Stark." Jarvis had greeted him and Howard Stark had nodded formerly back to him, before sliding his focus onto his son. His eyes hardened with something that made Tony uncomfortable to think about.

"Your mother has informed me you are to see a therapist, which I have reluctantly agreed to only on the basis that it may quieten her woes. I do not expect to see your grades slip any lower than they already have, nor hear that you have been using this stunt as any kind of excuse for laziness, do you hear me?" His stern tone retained a commanding quality that ricocheted around inside Tony's skull like a ping pong ball.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. The last thing I need is you making more of a fool of yourself than you previously have. You're already a disappointment to the Stark family name; don't make it any worse." Then he turned swiftly on his heel and strode off down the hallway into the depths of the house, his hands clasped behind his back.

The therapist was still watching him with her guarded gaze - that was the one thing he didn't like about her. His inability to read her. Though, he supposed, an overly open and readable therapist might not be something you wanted. Being good at reading those around him had been a skill he'd picked up not long after he'd become more aware of his father's increasing difficult-to-please attitude. 

"Why do you think that is?"

"God knows. Certainly not me." 

She regarded this answer, nodding slowly, as if she felt he did know, but just wasn't ready to discuss it yet. Maybe he wasn't. But then again, maybe he just didn't _know_. Sometimes, Tony wondered if anyone truly knew what was going on inside his father's high-walled mind. 

"What about Steve?"

Tony felt his chest tighten and unconsciously pressed his lips into a thin white line. "What about him?" He replied, trying to keep any emotion from leaking into his tone.

"How does he feel about your attempt?" 

"He doesn't know." The teenager squeezed his eyes shut and dragged his hand over his face, digging his fingertips into his temples. "I know, I should have told him. But it's not like we're actually _dating_ so, I figured, it's fine."

"But you have feelings for him."

"Yes."

"And you've been intimate together."

"Yes."

"And you care about him, as he does you."

Tony hesitated. "..Yes."

"But you didn't see a reason to tell him."

"Well, when you put it like that, it makes me sound like a dickhead."

She gave him a pointed look. "I'm just expressing my outside perspective. To me, it seems like you're concerned you'll have hurt him by attempting suicide, so instead of being honest, you're choosing to keep it from him."

"It's better for both of us that way!" Tony burst out, his forehead creasing with an exasperated frown. "He doesn't get hurt and won't have to worry about me all the time, like mom is. And I don't have to feel guilty about it."

"But you _are_ hurting him Tony: you're hurting both of you. Steve will inevitably find out at some point and will be more hurt to find out you lied to him, than if you just told him sooner. You're also hurting yourself by keeping it from him because you will always feel that guilt of having kept something so serious and significant from someone you really care about." She paused and took a deep breath. "The truth is almost always better and this is one of those times. I know you find it difficult to comprehend it, but Steve cares about you, truly, and yes he _will_ be upset you reached the point where suicide seemed like the only option, but he will also want to help and support you." 

After her voice died off, the silence that thickened in the air like congealing gravy. It permeated Tony's head as his pulse began to race in his ears; he hated to admit it, but she'd hit the nail right on the fucking _head_. 

As he pried his sweat-slicked palms away from his face, he was relieved to see that, at least, she wasn't gloating at him or smirking one of those little I-told-you-so smirks. Instead, that unopinionated soothing look was back, gentle and radiating ease. 

"Fuck." His voice was nothing more than a rasping croak, as if roughed with weeks of disuse, instead of the unshed tears stinging his eyes and burning in the back of his throat. 

**4**

It was funny, how sometimes there were things in life that you knew you should be used to, and yet, every time they make an appearance, you find yourself reacting as if it's the first time, again. Curled on his side atop the quilted sheets of his king size bed, Tony stared listlessly at his dully glowing phone screen, waiting for a reply. From behind him, the ambiance of his parent's arguing echoed up from the depths of the house, like endless screaming wearing a throat red-raw. It really wasn't all that uncommon for them to argue, and it was almost always centred around him, yet, every time, he felt like he was a child again - maybe 7 or 8 - when they'd burst into shouts of rage, like bellowing cattle. 

Now he was older, it wasn't exactly like he was afraid, there was just a feeling - a _need_ \- to get out of there. To get away. Because, in all honesty, anywhere was better than home.

A soft _ping_ sounded out through the stagnant air. 

_**Are you** **okay?**_

Warmth unfurled in his chest, like a blooming flower bud, extending its tendrils out into his stomach and creeping down his limbs to his lightly trembling fingers. A part of him hated how one person had so much control over him, but another part of him loved it - loved the burning affection and the feel of sculpted muscles under endless expanses of tanned skin; the tang of sweat and sweetened coffee against his lips and the aching pleasure of hormonal bodies rocking together in fluid motion. The fear of vulnerability had scalded his heart, but the fervour of love was nurturing. 

_**i'm fine. are you free?** _

The lowercase had started as a little tease to annoy Steve (ever a member of the grammar police). But at this point, it was just second nature. It was kind of a tell-tale sign, he supposed, that he was doing well enough to function - that he could keep up the lighthearted-ness of the inside joke. 

_**Of course. Do you want me to come get you?** _

Tony flexed his thumbs over the keypad on his phone screen; on one hand, if Steve came and picked him up, he'd have to wait, and he didn't exactly want to risk getting caught by anyone (not that it would actually make any difference if they did, but still). Plus, a walk might help calm his head a little. But then again, it was a fair distance to walk and and if Steve drove, they could always _go_ somewhere...

_**yeah. you mind if we go for a drive?** _

It wasn't like Tony didn't have his own car, but since the whole suicide attempt thing, his parents had been somewhat reluctant to let him go driving on his own. It wasn't like he didn't understand their reasoning, but that didn't make it any less annoying and inconvenient. 

_**Sounds good. I'll be there in 15.** _

Switching off his phone and rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling, Tony considered his options, of which he had two: first, going out through the front door of the house. This would involve having to get closer to the yelling and risk being seen by someone, but would ultimately be easier. Second, going out through a window. Technically, the second option could be broken down further to specific _which_ window: upstairs would be easier to access without being seen, but climbing down from the third or even second floor would be questionable. However, going out a window on the first floor would risk being seen, and at that point he may as well use the front door. 

A second floor window would be best, he decided. 

After getting up and digging through the mess on his floor, he found some wearable shoes and a jacket, then briefly threw together a bag in case he ended up staying overnight at Steve's. Heading to the second floor, Tony chose library-come-lounge, which had a balcony attached to it, and a sturdy trellis that snaked up the wall of the house beside it. Straddling the metal railing, it wasn't too difficult to find a foothold on the wall structure. The trellis stopped about a meter and a half above the ground, and he simply pushed off from the wall and twisting in the air, to land with only a slight stumble on the paving slabs in the stretching backyard. 

Sitting on the concrete curb outside the house, it didn't take long for Steve's Chevrolet Camaro '69 rumble down the street and pull up smoothly beside him. 

"Taxi?" Tony teased as he got in, throwing his bag into the backseat. Leaning over, he kissed the well-muscled blonde in the driver's seat, both out of affection and to ground himself before he began to bump against the roof of the car like a half-soft helium balloon.

Steve's expression was as readable as ever - a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve always. The corners of his mouth were rounded with supple amusement, but his eyes retained a hardness that told Tony that his boyfriend could just as easily see straight through him. Suddenly his throat felt like sandpaper, rubbing roughly on itself every time he swallowed. 

"So, where will it be?" The ease of Steve's tone was genuine, despite his obvious concern. 

"You mind if we pick something up first? I should probably eat."

The blonde nodded in agreement. "Sound good. Then where to?" 

Tony exhaled hard and let his body sag. "I don't care, really. Anywhere we can escape."

* * * *

Steve's favourite little diner didn't typically do takeaway, but the staff knew and liked him well enough that they didn't usually mind. Tony had waited in the car, looking at the half-lit neon sign outside and thinking of the gone-to-seed interior, with its peeling paint and faded cracked leather booths, the serving girls all beyond their prime and barely held in by their frilled dresses and aprons. He wondered how such a place was still going, because clearly it had enough customers to make a business, but somehow not enough to keep everything looking at least semi-decent. Still, despite the questionable appearance to the diner, it was almost certainly the best around; Tony would pick this place with Steve over one of the stupidly uptight and gourmet restaurants he had visited before with his mom or dad in the city, any day. 

Sometimes, Tony wished he'd been born into a family like Steve's and not rigid upper class environment of his own. 

Eventually, Steve had returned with two grease-spotted brown paper bags clutched in one hand and two bottles of coke in the other. Dumping the feverishly hot packages onto Tony's lap, Steve had left the parking lot heading away from the city. Living in the suburbs meant it hadn't taken too long to reach a hiking area, where they'd pulled off down the side of a service road and parked with the bonnet of the car pointing into the dense treeline of a small forest. 

It had been a little while since they'd parked the only noise had been the rustling of takeaway bags and muffled crunching of burgers and crispy skin-on fries. 

"My therapist thinks I should join the local teen support group for mental health." 

Steve shifted to look at him properly. "And what do you think?" 

Tony shrugged nonchalantly and took another bite from his bacon and cheese filled bun. "I mean, if that's what she thinks is best, then I'm all go. Yeah, the idea of listening to other teenagers whine about their equally shitty problems sounds like a bore, but then again, I'm not the professional." He glanced up and made eye-contact with Steve. "What do you think about it?"

The blonde was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "I agree with your therapist - I think it would be a good idea, too. Yes, perhaps not the most enjoyable way to spend your time, but maybe it'll help give you a different perspective of your depression." 

Tony nodded and turned back to his fries, dipping them in one of the little individual portion ketchup packets that had come from the diner. 

"My mom and Dad were arguing about it."

"Is that why you wanted to get out?" Steve's brow had puckered into a stern frown, though, he didn't look surprised. 

The brown-haired teen sighed. "Yep. Dad hates the whole idea of it - the support group, I mean. Says he doesn't want anyone outside of the house knowing I'm fucked up, because it'll bring shame on the family name, or something like that. So basically, he doesn't want my issues creating bad shit for him." After a moment, he added, "he'd refusing to let Jarvis drive me to the Youth Centre, but also won't let me drive my car, still."

Silence settled over them. "You know, sometimes I really think your father could do with some therapy himself." Steve mused. 

Tony snorted. "You're telling me." 

"So is he letting you go?"

Tony rolled his eyes. " _Technically_. At this point, I'm probably going to have to walk - which is fine, really. It's not overly far and it might help clear my head and stuff a bit before and after." He shrugged. "Not like I've got much choice, at this point."

Steve gave him a look that said _are you really that stupid?_ "Don't be ridiculous. I'll drive you." 

"What? No. I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me, I'm telling you." 

Tony raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend. "Are you now? What if I say no?"

Steve sighed. "Tony, look. I know you're used to doing things independently, but sometimes you've got to let other people help you."

"I _am_ letting other people help me - that's what my therapist is for."

Steve sighed again, but softly this time, more like a gentle exhale than one of exasperation. "Tony, I'm not going to let you walk to the damn Youth Centre and back, okay? That's at least forty minutes that I could do easily in ten or fifteen. It's only once a week and it's really not that big of a deal." He stopped and wet his lips uncomfortably before speaking again. "Also, I think James might end up going there, at some point." 

Tony stilled. James was Steve's best friend and had been since childhood; the guy had longish dark hair and hauntingly dark eyes. He was quiet a lot of the time and had a heavy kind of energy to him - closed off and fucked up in ways Tony had no idea how to unravel. It was abundantly clear that James had deep-set issues, whether diagnosed or not; Tony had seen him flip out and lose control enough times to know that therapy would definitely be beneficial. 

"Has he spoken to anyone about it?" 

"Not yet, but I think he might soon." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make this about James. "

"Woah, hey. Don't apologise, you're not _making_ it about him. It's just how the conversation happened to go." He hesitated. "I know him and I may not always see eye-to-eye but he's not a complete pain in the ass."

Steve chuckled softly. "I'll tell him that, shall I?"

"At your own risk, babe: don't want to over-inflate that ego." Their laugher filled the space inside the car and Tony felt himself migrate across the seat to lean against his boyfriend. 

"So you'll go?" Steve's chest vibrated comfortingly beneath his ear as he spoke. 

"Yeah, I'll go. And you can take me - just let me pay you gas money, sometimes, deal?"

"Deal."

* * * *

By about the third week, Tony had become accustomed to the routine of the group. Steve dropped him off as usual, his soft-lipped kiss a sure promise of pleasure later. As the dark haired teenager entered the Youth Centre, he noted a few unfamiliar faces already lingering inside the meeting room, most of them sitting on chairs. It was always easier to pick out the newbies like that; their parents dropped them early to talk to Holly the Social Worker and their lack of familiarity with anyone often led them to sitting with rigid anxiety in the uncomfortable plastic chairs organised in a circle in the centre of the room. Those who had been before usually chose to stand and socialise bitterly, plastic cups of watery juice or half-stale biscuits from the refreshments table clasped in their pale fingers.

Too tired to make forced small-talk with anyone, Tony sat down heavily on a chair, across the circle from a guy who couldn't seem to sit still. His blonde hair was a spiked greasy mess and his fingers jittered against his forearms in tandem with his shaking knees; it was hard to tell if he was having withdrawal, high on caffeine or generally anxious. Studying him casually, Tony figured he wouldn't be too surprised if it was actually a mix of all three. 

Once the circle was over half-full, Holly clapped her hands together with a wide smile. "Right. Let's get started." She looked around the circle for a moment. "Looks like we've got some new faces here, so I think an introductions would be a good idea. I'll start, shall I?" She paused for a moment, then continued when she realised no one was going to say anything. "My name is Holly and I'm the Social Worker for this teen support group." She gestured to the girl sitting one seat to her left.

The girl's smile seemed to stretch her already contorted skin even tighter over the sharp points of her facial bones. "Hi, I'm Jane. I'm here because I have anorexia nervosa." She turned her head and looked at the guy to her left. Tony let himself slump down a little in his seat, quietly wishing he'd gotten more sleep the night before. He squeezed his fingertips into his numbly throbbing temples and exhaled softly. 

The sudden sharp screech of chair legs on linoleum sent his head jerking up painfully. The greasy blonde guy had shoved his chair back violently and was stalking out of the room, shoulders hunched and fists clenched. 

"Clint..." Holly called after the guy half-heartedly; she spoke as if this had occurred before and for a moment Tony wondered if the guy wasn't actually new after all. That he just hadn't been present the two previous weeks Tony had gone and this was his first week back in a while. Though, it quite obviously wasn't going too well. 

The Social Worker sighed softly. "Let's just carry on, shall we? And then I'll go deal with things when we take our first little break." 

A boy sitting a few seats to the right of where Clint had been seated cleared his throat discreetly. "Uh, I'm Bruce. I'm here because I have severe anxiety and intermittent explosive disorder. I lost control and nearly killed someone." 

_Fucking hell_. Sometimes Tony felt out of place in the group - like the rest of the teenagers sitting around the circle were 'sicker' than him in some way. He was like an imposter, pretending to be more fucked up than he was and making use of something he didn't even need. Nauseous anxiety surged through him and he bit into the flesh around his thumb nail, trying not to think about it. 

"I'm Tony and I've got Clinical Depression. I'm here because I tried to kill myself." As with the first time he'd introduced himself to the support group, no one so much as batted an eyelid at his confession; suicide attempts weren't anything new to them. 

As the last girl in the circle introduced herself, Holly smiled at them again, though this time it seemed more plastic than before. "Okay, everyone, let's take a short break. I'll be back in a few minutes and then we'll continue." She stood and left the room. Tony exhaled hard and pinched the bridge of his nose; everything was just so _fucking exhausting_ these days.

**5**

It wasn't like Tony didn't want to bring Steve home to meet his parents - in all honesty, he had looked forward to his mom getting to meet Steve for a long time - but the thing was, a part of him was holding back. Despite the fact Howard Stark had been absent in so many areas of his life, Tony still found himself holding out hope, hope that his dad might actually want to meet his son's significant other. So he'd waited and waited for the 'right' moment to ask him, until James Barnes, his mom and even goddamn Clint Barton, had just told him to go for it and ask his dad.

James had joined the support group with Tony a mere few weeks after he himself had started going, and Barnes and Barton had somehow hit it off - it seemed to Tony that they shouldn't work together at all, what with Clint's Bipolar Disorder and Self-destructive tendencies and James' PTSD, and yet, it did. Under Steve and James' insistence, Clint had started spending more time with the three of them and Tony learnt that the guy was actually supposed to go to their school, but found it difficult to cope after his most recent attempt (over two months ago) and so worked from home instead. It was weird, seeing someone so similar yet so different in terms of issues to himself; someone who'd been through their own fucked up childhood and was now paying the price in mental health issues and suicidal tendencies. Still, James seemed to be improving, as did Clint - Tony was pretty sure the guy had been clean of everything since his last attempt. 

But now, standing outside his dad's office, twisting his fingers together, he wondered if he'd been right to trust his friends and his mom's judgement. It had been a good few minutes since his original knock and now he was contemplating whether knocking again would be a good idea or a death sentence. On one hand, his dad might not have heard the first knock, but then again, he may just have been finishing up something and a second knock would sour the mood greatly, ruining his chances. 

Just as Tony raised his fist to make his presence known a second time, a wooden voice range out from within the room. "Enter." As he pushed open the door gently, he wondered whether or not there had actually been impatience in that tone, or if it was just his imagination. 

Letting the door _snick_ shut softly behind him, Tony approached the large glossy mahogany desk that squatted in the centre of the office, surrounded by award and book littered shelves of the same rich wood. Howard Stark was sat dressed in a deep royal blue suit behind his desk, ink fountain pen in his hand, pouring over sheaves of documents and elegantly swirling out his curled signature at the bottom of each one. Somehow, Tony had failed to inherit legible handwriting from either of his parents; though, he supposed, he'd only ever really seen his father's signature and supposedly, the more intelligent you are the messier your handwriting, so there was still hope.

His father looked up and nodded politely to teenager stood before him. "Anthony. What can I do for you? Make it quick, I'm up to my elbows, here."

"Oh." Tony fumbled for the right words, "I've invited Steve - my boyfriend - over for dinner this evening and I was wondering if you would join us and mom." He stumbled over himself slightly in the middle but refused to let himself be ashamed of admitting having a same-sex partner to his dad. 

"Right. Well, I've got a lot to do and my work obviously has to come first. Maybe if I have a spare moment, I'll come by and your- your-" Howard Stark opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water for a moment, words choking him to silence. "Your _boyfriend_ can introduce himself." 

Tony could do nothing more than nod in response - arguing would be pointless and ultimately lead nowhere. "Okay. Thank you." 

His dad just nodded and gestured at him dismissively, his attention already back on his paperwork. Leaving the room, Tony found he didn't feel entirely disappointed; maybe it was the fact his father had openly acknowledge his son was truly not just in a 'phase' and had actually used the word 'boyfriend'. Admittedly, it was frustrating he likely wouldn't be there for dinner, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

* * * *

Leaning back against one of the marble countertops in the kitchen, the skin of his elbows pressed against the refreshingly cool surface. A now slightly-warmed glass of whiskey and coke sat comfortably in his grasp, the ice just beginning to shrink, but not enough to water back the bite of the alcohol too much. At the island, Maria was stood, folding dressing through an overly-green salad, though her eyes weren't focused on the bowl in front of her. Instead, the resided in contact with Steve, who was talking animatedly to her in the way that only Steve seemed capable of; he was one of those people who was just so naturally charismatic that they could just go up to anyone and find something to talk about. In moments like this, Tony found himself wondering how someone as fucked up as him, had manage to win over someone as golden as Steve. 

Howard Stark was yet to make an appearance, but Tony figured the night was still young and there was plenty of time for his dad to come striding in, all arrogance and permanently-furrowed eyebrows. Even though he knew his dad's judgement and approval wasn't everything, part of him was desperate for Howard to meet Steve, because Steve was basically everything Tony wasn't. And everything Tony wasn't, was exactly what his father had wanted in a son. 

Feather-light fingertips ghosted over his bicep and Tony jumped; Steve was at his side, an amused half-smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Tony replied, "just wondering how two such different people can have so much to talk about." From where she was pulling plates out of the cupboard, Maria laughed. 

"Yes, Tony, some of us actually like being sociable." Her tone was the most carefree it had been for a long time and for a moment, Tony wondered if the usual tense concern that laced it was related to him. 

" _Lies_. I refuse to believe that." His almost inability to keep the smile off his face felt oddly foreign but genuine. "You two ladies want another cocktail?" 

"Are you _trying_ to get me drunk?" She teased. 

Tony gave her the most innocent look he could muster. "And if I am?" 

She laughed and handed him her glass. "Then have at it." 

As Maria turned to the stove to begin mixing a pot of cooked and drained pasta into another of thick creamy sauce, Tony turned to look at Steve expectantly. "And you?" 

Steve shrugged casually. "Sure, I could go for another."

After his attempt, there had been a mutual agreement between Tony's parents to lock away the alcohol in the house, which, although irritating, was understandable. As his therapist had began to report back his improvement, his mom had started to allow some low-level drinking with dinner, on occasion. But having Steve over for dinner had obviously seemed like a significant enough milestone to let him have cocktails for the first time since the attempt. Not only that, but it was the first time Tony had been allowed to physically handle the alcohol, instead of Maria portioning it herself. It made him feel a little like he was a kid again, being given approval for sips of his mom's wine or his dad's dark pints of beer. As he stood at the counter, above which the spirits cupboard resided, he was reminded of being fourteen and his mom standing at his shoulder, carefully showing him how to make margaritas, martinis and sidecars. His hands had been carelessly steady then, but now he had to focus - almost uncomfortably so - to stop the tremor in his hands from spilling vodka down the side of the delicate shot glass. 

"Your mom seems real nice." Steve had dropped his voice to a quiet murmur, despite the fact they were far away across the kitchen enough that Maria wouldn't be able to hear them. 

"I- Yeah, she is." Tony found himself hesitating over nothing. "I'm glad she likes you. Not that I thought she wouldn't but-" 

Steve laughed softly. "Thanks. I know how highly you think of her, so her approval really means a lot to me." Before he could think twice about it, Tony stretched up and pressed a kiss against Steve's warmth-flushed lips. The accompanying affection that swelled in his chest was comfortable in a way that would have once frightened Tony and made him want to push his boyfriend away, but now it felt empowering. 

"Any time you boys are done disgracing that corner of my kitchen, dinner will be ready." Maria's light teasing tone drew Tony back into the moment and he eased himself down off his tiptoes; he was almost glad to see the flaming blush he felt spreading over his cheeks was mirrored across Steve's.

"One cosmopolitan for you, madam." He placed the cocktail glass down on the counter next to his mom, before collecting his own glass and carefully balancing the salad bowl in his other hand. Despite it not being a formal occasion, there had been an unspoken decision to sit and eat in the dinning room. Usually, Tony and Maria simply ate in the kitchen, as Howard often neglected to dine with them and it seemed silly to occupy such an expansive space when there were only two of them. 

"This is really good." Steve spoke between bites of pasta and mouthfuls of alcohol. 

Maria smiled warmly at him. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. Are you much of a cook yourself?" 

"I can make a pretty mean steak, amongst other things." 

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't be so humble, Steve." He turned to his mom. "What he means is yes, and a damn good one." 

" _Well_ ," his mom snorted into her drink, "maybe you can teach a thing or two to Tony then, because god knows I've tried plenty and I've gotten _nowhere_." Steve's laughter joined hers and Tony's half-hearted protests soon died under the humour. 

A pleasant atmosphere hung about the room as they talked and ate, like the factory smell in a new car: refreshing. Far too often, the Stark mansion seemed cloaked in a suffocating and heady air that seemed to soak into your every being. It was suffocating at best and frequently drove Tony to anywhere outside of the place. There had been times before, at night, staring up at the ceiling in an insomniac daze, breathing in that clotted silence had felt like having his face smothered in a wet blanket. After a while he usually gave up and would scale down from his window to walk the streetlamp-yellow washed streets, earphones in, just so he could _think_. But now, hearing the musical laughter of himself, his boyfriend and his mom, it was hard to imagine the heaviness of the house had ever existed at all. 

Quick measured footsteps down the hall beside the dinning room yanked Tony sharply out of the moment. 

Dad.

He looked up expectantly at the doorway, just in time to see his father striding past without a thought to even glance in at them. An icy jolt of frustration burst through Tony; there was no way his dad wouldn't have heard them. The door was open and the corridor was pretty damn long - long enough that he would have heard the voices for a good several paces before he came upon the door. 

Against his better judgement, Tony stood suddenly, knocking his chair back to swing wildly on its two back legs; the frustration had spiked horribly into something he didn't quite want to think about. Something as bitter as bile and slick like a coiling snake in his stomach, ready to strike. 

"Tony-" Maria's voice fell futilely against his deaf ears. In a blink he was half out into the hall, his legs working faster than his mind. He didn't know what he would say if he caught up to his father, but he was sure the right words would come when they needed to. The wet anger bubbling up into his throat was assuring him of that.

He was only three steps out of the dinning room, when the slam of the front door echoed out through the house. Within an instant, all of the icy power that had been swelling like an abscess suddenly seemed to burst and drain out through his feet into the floor, leaving his limbs like lead and his eyes itchy and burning. Tony refused to acknowledge the tears burning into the shadowed skin beneath his eyes as he stared uselessly at the inside of the front door.

The rest of the evening felt misaligned and disjointed, like he was stuck on delay. Maria's mouth seemed permanently twisted into a pained pucker, as if her cocktail had been replaced with lemon juice. 

Tony sighed tiredly. "I know, I know, I should have learnt by now. I should be used to his incompetence and unreliability." Tony tipped his head back against Steve's arm, which was extended along the back of the sofa behind him. "I just hoped that once, _just once_ , he would actually be my _fucking_ dad." 

Steve's other hand, which had been holding his drink, freed itself and snaked around Tony's middle and squeezed him gently, before retreating a little to rub soothingly up and down his upper arm.

Maria's face crumpled into an expression of regret, tactfully ignoring Tony's swearing. "I know. I'm sorry on his behalf, and I know that doesn't excuse his behaviour at all, but you and I both know how he is when it comes to apologies." Her face contorted then, and her eyes hardened, the dark pencilled brows drawing in low over them. "I plan on having a good discussion with him about this later." Taking a swallow from her drink, the muscles in her expression relaxed and she gestured toward the door with her drink hand. "Why don't you two go out and cool off a bit; take a walk; I'll clean up the kitchen."

* * * *

Somehow, 'taking a walk' turned into Tony sitting on Steve's lap in the backseat of his Camaro, his shins pressed into the leather-upholstered seat either side of his boyfriend's heavily muscled thighs, straddling them. His arms were wrapped comfortably around Steve's neck, his chin hooked over his shoulder. Steve's arms looped around him, his hands cupped at Tony's lower back, the side of his face pressed against the top of Tony's head. 

"Thank you for coming this evening. I'm sorry I fucked it up." 

"Hey, no, don't start that. You've done nothing wrong, okay?" The blonde rubbed his thumb absently against Tony's lower spine. "I mean that."

The dark hair teenager sat back on his heels for a moment, then surged forwards to kiss the face in before him. Steve's hands suddenly spread against his lower back, splayed fingers stretching out over his tee shirt clad skin, pulling his body in towards his own. 

Suddenly Tony sat back, his chest rising and falling on the edge of panting. "I'm sorry, I just can't stand any more emotional shit this evening."

Steve looked back at him with saliva moistened lips and dilated pupils. "No need to apologise. I was liking where that was going." 

A grin flashed across Tony's face and he cupped his boyfriend's face to draw his own forward to meet it. It didn't take long for a sweltering heat to bloom in the pit of Tony's stomach, pooling downwards to his groin and making him unconsciously rock his hips forward, pressing his body flush against Steve's. With a soft grunt, Steve parted his lips and his tongue darted out to melt into his boyfriend's mouth. Tony angled his head to the side and drove their lips together more firmly, allowing their slick tongues to slide over each other in a way that made his cock's want for friction burn into a craving. 

Steve was apparently having the same thought as his hands shifted lower onto the dark haired teen's ass. He pulled Tony up against himself, grinding their crotches together, and even through the double layers of denim jeans and cloth boxers, pleasure shot in rivets up through his nerves like liquid gold. A breathless moan slipped from a pair of lips; in the moment, it was hard to tell who it belonged to. Letting go of his boyfriend's head, Tony braced himself against the car's interior - one hand against the refreshingly cool glass of the window, the other grasping the firm thickness of the leather backseat. Using the two points as leverage, he ground his hips forward and down against the swollen heat that was Steve's cock, pulling his jeans uncomfortably taut. 

Tony pulled his mouth away for a moment, working up a steady rhythm with the thrust of his hips, as Steve groaned under him. 

"I'll be nice and let you think you're the dominant one, shall I?" The blonde teased, his voice hoarse with arousal. 

"Shut up. You're enjoying it." 

Steve grinned from under him. "You know I am." God that smile could make him melt any day, and right now it could probably make him cum without needed for Steve to touch him. His hips stuttered out of rhythm as the other boy threaded his hands under his shirt, grasping around his back and drawing him back in. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Tony's hands fell to the other boy's jeans and popped the buttons from their holes, attempting to wrestle them impatiently down the hips of their wearer. Steve laughed. 

"Alright, alright. There's not much space in here; we should probably actually stop for a moment if the jeans are coming off." 

Rolling off his boyfriend's lap for a moment, Tony undid his own jeans and wriggled them off his legs as best he could, leaving them in an untidy heap, inside out, in the footwell of the backseat with his shoes. As soon as Steve's bare thighs were exposed, he took his seat back up again, his cock already aching almost painfully. Lurching forward, he thrust their boxer-clad crotches together again and moaned as the euphoria laced his veins. 

" _Fuck_." Steve's groan matched his own, the head of his cock straining against his thin boxers. 

"D'you have any condoms in here?" Tony spoke between pants of pleasure as he picked his thrust rhythm back up again. Even though he knew they were both clean, condoms would at least mean he wouldn't have to go back inside to clean up; lube was less of an issue, as, though it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, saliva could make-do.

"No. Haven't gotten around to picking any up yet. Sorry." Steve sounded genuinely apologetic, but Tony just shrugged nonchalantly. 

"That's fine. I just want you." 

At that, he sat back on his heels and pulled the waistband of Steve's boxers down, tucking the hem of his shirt out the way. The inside of his underwear and the head of his swollen cock were sticky with pre-cum and Tony's cock twitched at the sight. Spitting into the palm of his hand, he grasped the shaft of his boyfriend's prick and slowly stroked upward, revelling as the boy under him moaned throatily in response. 

Gently, he teased his hand up and down Steve's cock, steadily picking up speed until he could feel the blonde's muscles tensing beneath him. Steve moaned breathily against his ear, kissing him sloppily and fervently, his eyes screwed closed and his mouth hanging half open; a face of pure fucking pleasure. As he approached the edge of orgasm, Tony slowed the rate of his jerks and Steve blinked open his eyes to frown at him. The dark haired teen knew his boyfriend wasn't truly annoyed at him, despite the edging. 

In retaliation, Steve forcefully pulled Tony's boxer's down as far as they would go, allowing his hardened cock to spring free. He opted with just Tony's pre-cum and wrapped his long lean fingers around his cock, picking up a sharp and heady rhythm. Taking this as his cue to do the same, Tony sped up his own strokes and they quickly fell into sync. Steve's other hand was still braced against his back, holding their curled forms together as their kiss-bruised lips locked again. Their heads twisted as their eyes fell half shut arousal drunk. Tongues slid saliva slick over teeth and each other. Their moans were like music to their ears, singing their love and pleasure. The heat in Tony's stomach had roared up his entirety and was beginning to build behind his eyes as his orgasm loomed. 

" _Fuck_. Steve. Faster, I'm gonna cum." 

The blonde picked up his stroke rhythm slightly and Tony felt his back arch as his vision whited and ropes of sticky heat smeared across his stomach. 

"Oh fuck. _Steve._ " The moan slid willingly past his lips and he felt the hand around his cock slow to milk it gently. 

"Don't stop. Keep going, I'm almost there." Steve's pleasure-face was back and Tony crooked his neck to suck a love-bite under his boyfriend's collar bone. As he pulled at the thin skin with his teeth, he jerked his hand faster under Steve's moans slipped into throaty gasps.

"Tony. Tony. _Tony._ " His voice turned desperate as he hit the edge of his orgasm, his cock twitching violently in Tony's hand and splattering cum across the two of them and down his fingers. 

For several moments, the only noise in the limited space of the car was the duet of their post-orgasmic panting, the heavy scent of sex sitting low in their senses. 

"Hopefully I didn't get any of that on the seats." Tony mumbled. 

Steve laughed breathlessly. "I've got tissues." He raked the fingers of his clean hand through his hair and looked at the boy on his lap. "I love you."

"I know you do," he didn't even bother trying to keep the grin off his lips. "And I love you, too."

**+1**

"Y'know, I think that was the best worst film I've ever seen." 

"Oh no, no, no. You can't just leave it at that. Come on, explain." 

Tony snorted as he clipped his seatbelt in and adjusted the strap against his chest, listening to the jovially playful conversation bubbling up behind him in the backseat, as Clint and James wrestled against the stiff belt retractors. Clint laughed at his boyfriend and Tony suddenly thought about how far the blonde had come since their first acquainting; his shoulders were slumped, relaxed, and the sleeves of his well-worn studded leather jacket were pushed up to his elbows, airing his scar-ridden forearms without a second thought. Seeing the other boy on his good days made Tony's chest swell weirdly, almost like he was proud of his friend. It also reminded him of himself, and how far he had come, even if he hadn't really noticed it. 

"-'cause it was one of those kinda low-budget crap-fests but at the same time, it was well done and fuckin' hilarious." James laughed and agreed, his demeanour the best Tony had seen in it several days.

His mom had met James and Clint once before when Steve had dropped him off after they'd spent an afternoon hanging out and faffing about at a local park. Tony figured she'd been too overjoyed by the fact he actually had friends and let her meet them, to be too bothered by James' cryptically dark aura or Clint's urban dialect and awful potty mouth. To be fair to the guy, it was what he had grown up with; not that Tony had much of an insight into Clint's childhood, but from what him, Steve and James had hinted at, it had been filled with abuse of all flavours, shitty parents and foster homes. 

"Alright, where to?" Steve addressed the whole car, half twisted in his seat behind the wheel to face Tony and peer over his shoulder at the two in the back. "Anyone got a free house?"

"My foster mom, Laura, 's got some new baby she's lookin' at takin' on. So, not mine." Clint shrugged apologetically and chewed the skin around the edge of his thumb nail.

"Afraid mine isn't looking too good, either. Becca had some friends over last night and they're probably still hanging around, so unless anyone's looking to get a teen-girl makeover." Becca was James' younger sister by three years - Tony had met her only a handful of times and her protectiveness over her older brother had been quick to make itself apparent. Her straight dark hair and intensely dark eyes were startlingly resemblant of James' and their aching similar stubborn nature was nothing short of impressive, if not irritating as all hell at times. 

"My mom won't be home until late. We can crash at mine." Tony's voice broke through the still air of the car, leaving thickening silence in its wake; he had always avoided bringing the group back to the Stark mansion, for fear of something happening, or his dad appearing and making a fuss.

"You sure? What about your father?" Steve was assessing him from under furrowed brows, equal measures of suspicion and confusion masking his expression. 

The dark haired teen shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, he's probably at home, but that's not really an issue. He doesn't come out his workshop or office much and he doesn't really yell at me much anymore. He actually said something the other day about letting me have my car back soon, so I'm sure things are fine on the Howard Stark front."

Steve nodded slowly then glanced over his shoulder at the pair behind him. "That sound okay to you two?" After the nods and noises of confirmation came back to him, the muscular blonde teenager turned himself fully around in the seat and fired up the engine of his car. 

"I'm glad to hear he's easing off on you, Tony." He said, over the rumbling purr of the engine. "It's unfair he's been so stringent for so long." 

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, it has been fucking annoying at times, but I guess it's just his way of expressing his concern."

"Well it's a damn stupid way." Tony could only laugh.

* * * *

Tony refused to be embarrassed about the sheer size of the Stark mansion as he thumbed passcode into the keypad set into the expansive stone wall beside the front door (he could have just knocked and Jarvis would have answered the door, but that had just seemed a little much, really). The cutting remarks from James and Clint had been mercifully light and low in numbers; he wasn't sure if they were deliberately holding back, but to be honest, he didn't really care to know. Finally, the keypad beeped cheerily at him and the celebratory green light flashed as a soft low-pitched _click_ resided from the door. Pushing it open, he gestured grandly to the other three teenagers for them to enter. 

"Mansion de Stark." 

Jarvis must have lurking in one of the front rooms, because by the time Tony had closed the door and turned around, Jarvis was already standing in the hall, his hands clasped professionally behind his back, looking at the group with a playful expectancy dancing in his eyes. 

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

The dark haired teen gestured gestured to the butler. "This is Jarvis, our family butler." He glanced at the suit-clad gentleman. "Jarvis, this is James Barnes and Clint Barton." The inclusion of their last names felt odd in his mouth, like licking felt, but it had always been Jarvis' preference to address those he spoke to by their last name - Tony wasn't sure if it was generationally or occupationally related.

The butler inclined his head once. "Would you like me to inform Mister Stark of your arrival?" 

"No, thanks, it's fine. I'm sure he's too busy at the moment anyway." Despite the fact he knew that Jarvis was well aware of the conflict that often smouldered within the confines of the house between Howard and his son, and then also his wife, Tony often avoided speaking too ill of his father around the butler. In all honesty, he wasn't too sure why; maybe it was because he didn't want to insult the man who served his father so closely. Or perhaps simply because it seemed _improper_. 

Jarvis gave a single nod again. "As you wish, sir. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask." He smiled briefly at the group of them, then left in the direction of the dining room and trophy room in the belly of the mansion. 

James gave a low whistle. "Fucking _hell_ man. I knew your family was kind of fancy, but I didn't think you'd have _staff_." 

"Yep. It's been only Jarvis for a few years though, now. We had a live-in cook and maid when I was a kid, but Mom let them go during freshman year because she wanted things to do around the house. Now there's just a maid who visits, like, once or twice a week, I think." 

"Her name is Bethany. She's quite nice, actually." Steve said mildly. 

Tony blinked in surprise and looked at his boyfriend incredulously. "You what? Since when have you met her?!"

"Well, sometimes you're not ready to leave when I get here and I don't know if you've noticed, Tony Stark, but you do have the tendency to take record-breakingly-long showers-"

"Don't you sass me." Tony interrupted. Steve just laughed. 

Clint stayed oddly silent throughout the conversation and remained the same as they climbed the stairs and unloaded into the games room on the second floor. The room was lengthy and comfortable, with deep blue walls and a polished wooden floor, covered in places with soft grey rugs. There was a minibar-style setup in one corner of the room, which was regularly restocked with snacks, soft drinks and alcohol. Off to one side of the room was a large flatscreen TV, fixed to the wall and wired-up to numerous gaming consoles, opposite a wide plushy leather sofa, scattered with comfortably squishy cushions and boxed in by bean bags. The centre of the room was taken up by a vivid green pool table and an oak card table, squatted next to floor to ceiling bookshelf, stuffed achingly full with books and all manner of board games. 

The quietness of usually one of the most boisterous members of the group (after Tony himself), was beginning to unnerve the dark haired teen. 

"You alright, Clint?"

The blonde looked at him with cautious but calm eyes; he didn't look like he was on the edge of a freak-out, or about to flip out, which calmed Tony's flighty nerves at least a little. 

"Yeah, man. Just thinkin' about how we can have such equally shithead parents and yet live such different lives." He had stopped to stand beside Tony just inside the doorway to the games room, while Steve began to set up one of the consoles and James looted the snackbar. 

"Huh. Yeah, I guess so." 

"I mean, of course, me growin' up in poverty and you like this has an impact, on that." Tony knew the other boy's unbothered tone was hiding the harboured feelings of imposition that boiled beneath the surface, but decided not to comment on it; Clint was all about keeping up appearances. 

"True that. My dad's a big fan of using money to both 'make-up for' being shitty and to shutter me away, so I'm less of a disappointment." 

Clint nodded slowly. "Had my dad actually been able to hold down a job and not drink everythin' he earned, I'm sure he woulda been the same." 

They stood silently for several long moments, until James clambered out from behind the minibar, his hands clutching desperately at an armful of snack packets. "Not to interrupt or anything, but if you're done having your moment, would you mind giving me a hand?" 

His light-hearted tone seemed to shatter the atmosphere like ice, and Clint surged forwards to give his boyfriend a hand, while Tony choose to sidle up to Steve on the sofa. He was busy fiddling the TV remote, his lap full of Xbox controllers, their lights glowing luminous blue, green and white.

Steve gentle tipped his head sideways to bump it carefully against Tony's. "Clint okay?" 

"Yeah, I think so." He frowned, suddenly a little unsure - the guy hadn't been verging on anything serious, but then again... "At least, he's not not okay, I don't think." 

The blonde pressed a kiss against Tony's temple. "Well, he seems like he's doing okay now." He bumped their shoulders together and Tony turned his head to see the other two boys fighting playfully over the cans of energy drink that had been residing in the minibar fridge. James was attempting to wrestle them off Clint, while laughing breathlessly, as the other fruitlessly wriggled in his grip. Tony rolled his eyes but laughed. 

Eventually, they settled in front of the TV with Steve and Tony on the sofa, the dark haired boy's back pressed up against his boyfriend's chest as he sat snuggly between his spread thighs. On the floor, James and Clint had taken over one of the immense bean bags, with James sitting upright and Clint draped messily across his lap, like a weird fleshy blanket. Halo Multiplayer mode flickered across the television screen in bright colours and intense gunfire; their remotes clicked and vibrated aggressively under their rapid thumbs. It didn't take long for their competitive nature to make itself well-known, as Tony and James stalked each other across the maps, shooting each other mercilessly, regardless of their respective teams. 

There was a soft but assertive knock at the door, so sudden that Tony - admittedly - jumped a little. A frown creased his brow; his mom wouldn't knock in such a way and anyway, she'd never bothered him whilst he'd been in the games room before. Jarvis tended to announce his arrival before entering a room, meaning it was unlikely to be him either, so-

The door swung forth and Howard Stark stepped cautiously through the frame, his usual confidence seemingly lacking. Tony's eyes widened in pure and untamed surprise - there was no way he could cover that one up.

"Dad.." He trailed off, unsure of where to go or what to say. 

His father cleared his throat a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Anthony-" He swallowed, adjusted his shirt and tried again. "Anthony, your mother and I have decided to go out for dinner. She suggested you and your friends ordering pizza, if you so wish." His hand rubbed each other unsurely as he spoke, before he pushed them deep into the pockets of his suit trousers. "Jarvis, er- said I would find you in here."

Tony nodded slowly; he could feel the eyes of his friends burning into him, expectantly. "Uhm, thanks." Refusing to let his father's contagious discomfort infect him, he added "this is Steve, James and Clint, by the way." He gestured to them in turn and in his peripheral vision, he saw Steve flash his father one of his winning golden smiles. 

Howard inclined his head. "Yes, it's nice to meet you all. Hopefully I'll be seeing more of the three of you - it isn't often this house gets visitors." He was looking awkward again and he nodded to himself. "Just call you mother or I if you need anything, Anthony." He turned to leave the room, but paused in the doorframe, one hand wrapped around the jamb, as if having second thoughts.

Then he turned and looked over his shoulder at them. "You know, the television in the living room is pretty damn good for watching films on - the surround sound system is all plugged in now." Letting go of the wooden frame, he exited fully, shutting the door behind him gently. 

For several long moments, there was silence. Tony could easily read through his fathers words, through the uncomfortable insecurity, to understand Howard Stark had been encouraging him to have his friends over more often, because maybe, just maybe, he wanted to get to know them better.

"Well," he said, "that was a fucking first." 


End file.
